


Grey Polo

by Rebecca_exe1



Category: Original Work
Genre: Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:15:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29862795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebecca_exe1/pseuds/Rebecca_exe1
Summary: Hey guys!This is just an original short story that I’ve had in my docs for a long time, and it has a lot of meaning/ context behind it. It’s also loosely based on one of my favorite wrestlers. I put my soul into this one.There really is no good way to summarize, but I will say that if you’re struggling with loss, mourning a death, or battling with yourself, this may be just as meaningful to you. I really hope you guys enjoy the story of Akrosa Duvalle and Damon.(Also also, I apologize for the lack of indention. For some reason, this site won't allow me to.)





	Grey Polo

Grey Polo

Akrosa Duvalle sits alone on his bedside. The gun is heavy in his hand, and so he sets it against the sheets. He picks it up when the pain returns. The television is off, the door is shut, and his eyes are to the floor. He must concentrate on his next move.  
Akrosa was never the sulker. In his life, he could count the times he has cried on a single hand. When trouble arose, he expressed little more than a furrowed brow. A withdrawn man, his wife explained to outlanders when his back was turned. Private. Although, not quite private enough to repress anger as it surfaced.  
His hands remain steady as he turns the gun over, a truth that worries him. The weapon itself carries the same weight as his intent. He knows this well, and yet, he basks in serenity.  
And then, at his side, Damon appears. He sits comfortably on Akrosa’s bed, as if it is his own, wearing the grey polo Akrosa last remembers seeing on him. The shirt is tucked underneath Akrosa’s pillow, and Akrosa knows this. Still, Damon does not wear any other shirt, only the grey polo.  
“Hey, buddy,” Damon says.  
Akrosa steadies his eyes to the pattern of his floor. He says nothing.  
“Whatcha got in your hand?”  
“Go away.” He can see Damon’s smile in the side of his vision, though he is certain it is riddled with satire. Perhaps disappointment, he fears.  
“First you’re mad that I’m gone, then you’re mad that I’m here. What’s it gonna be?” Harsh words, though accompanied by the tenderest sound.  
“Please. I don’t need this right now.”  
“I’m here now, aren’t I?”  
“Yeah, only ‘cause I can’t control myself. Where were you at Thanksgiving?” He asks.  
“Right beside you,” Damon replies with a light tap against Akrosa’s shoulder. “You felt it, I know you did.”  
He says nothing.  
“Akrosa.”  
Nothing still.  
“Akrosa.”  
He shakes his weary head.  
“Akrosa.”  
And his head whips sideward to face Damon, careful to avoid direct contact with near-golden eyes. They somehow never failed to win Damon exactly what he wanted. “Stop saying my name!” He shouts.  
“You know why I say it so much?”  
“Why?”  
“‘Cause it’s my favorite name in the world, and I’ll say it whenever I feel like it. Unless you think you can kick my ass about it.” Damon smiles his million dollar glow, adding another shoulder tap.  
“I know what you’re trying to do,” Akrosa mutters.  
“What am I doing?”  
“Trying to stop me from doing this.” He motions the gun upward, and Damon inches closer to him. “I have to. I can’t keep going like this. I have nothing left.”  
“That’s a load of crap, man,” Damon says with a sudden tinge of anger. “What about Sara? The girls. You’ve got a whole family to look after. You can’t leave them.”  
“But I don’t have you!” His eyes are hot now, though he refuses to cry. He turns away. “You were my brother, blood or not. You didn’t let me lose my mind when I would’ve. You knew everything I couldn’t tell anyone. Not Sara, not anyone. You weren’t scared of me. And now I-.” He blinks away the burning in his eyes. “I can’t do this without you, Damon.”  
A momentary silence passes. All the while, Damon’s easy-eyed stare persists. He finally closes the space that separates them. “And you think doing this will make it all better?”  
“Nothing else will!” He shouts and stands to his feet. “Why did it have to be you? Huh? Out of everyone there is! You left us! Everyone, you just- you didn’t say goodbye or anything, just- gone like that!” His chest heaves as he struggles to find his wording. “Goddammit, you left me Damon, and I‘m- so lost! There’s nothing left now! Fucking bastard!” And the tears begin to stream. Akrosa’s body trembles in waves, weighing him, and he sinks onto the bed. If he had the will to, he would beg Damon to look away from him. So ugly, he thinks. I’m so ugly. The lack of response in several minutes forces his gaze back to Damon. His face glistens.  
Damon only nods.  
“I’m sorry.”  
“It’s okay, buddy. Get it all out,” Damon coos.  
“No, no. No. I’m sorry.” And the shame settles in. “I didn’t mean to curse at you.”  
“Hey man, it’s really okay. I’d be mad too.”  
“I shouldn’t be. It wasn’t your fault. I was being selfish again.” The further Akrosa thinks about what he has said, the more heated his body becomes. His hands clench into tight fists, and he throws one into the wall beside him. The thud is heavy. He strikes again.  
“Don’t do that.”  
Another swing, then another, until the interior of the wall is exposed. He rips off a large piece and slams it onto the floor. Dust drifts in the air around him. His breathing is labored, then the stone of his heart begins to fracture, and he pours forth a heartbroken wail. He hangs his head, unable to look at Damon, with hands still balled. One is pressed against his forehead.  
“Stop this.” Damon places his hand overtop Akrosa’s bloody fist, then pulls him into his warm embrace, into the grey polo. Nothing is said for many minutes, allowing only the sound of Akrosa’s breathing free. Damon does not release him until Akrosa’s muscles fully relax.  
And Akrosa realizes Damon is still holding him by the fist. “I can almost remember how they feel,” he says. He looks down at their hands. “They were so warm, even in the winter.” He smiles in a fond way, then his face is stone. “Not anymore.”  
“Don’t talk like that.” Damon taps him in the base of his chin. “Look at me, man.”  
And he does so, carefully, for a reason he cannot place. His heart aches harder at the sight of those golden eyes.  
“I’m only as dead as you let me be. So don’t let me be dead. Tell our stories, tell the girls so they don’t forget. Keep all the pictures.” He pauses. “I know you tried to throw them out.”  
“I know. I was mad then. I’m-“  
“Don’t say sorry.”  
And Akrosa laughs in spite of himself. “Sara wouldn’t let me toss ‘em. She told me to print them out and put them in a safe spot.”  
“She’s a smart lady, and you should. A face like this? Too handsome not to.” And they share a glint of laughter. He taps Akrosa’s chin once more. “And a face like that? It’s gotta stick around at least forever. Like, at the very least.”  
“A face like this belongs in a zoo.”  
“That’s where you’re wrong, buddy. You’re a good-looking guy. I think so.”  
Akrosa’s face heats. He prays that color will not follow. “Stop.”  
“Nah, you stop with all that I’m ugly crap. You’re handsome, you’re loyal, you’re the strongest man I know. Your heart’s like gold, and that’s damn beautiful to me, man.”  
The two sit in the solace of one another, wordless, just as Akrosa knows he needs. Akrosa scales every piece of Damon that he can recall, from the hole in his left denim pocket to the imperfect adjustment of his shirt collar. He takes a final look at Damon’s eyes, sitting a tad straighter to view them in their fullest beauty. Dark specks, as the finest shaved chocolate, floating in the midst of the honey. He finds himself at a loss of thought. “You know if a disease had an ass, I’d break my foot off in it. Right?”  
“I know you would.” Damon smiles, just as he did in the days of their friendship, and then he is gone. His scent lingers, though to Akrosa’s dismay, it is all that remains.  
Akrosa sets the gun aside. Not right now, he thinks.  
Akrosa spent the rest of the night in blissful isolation, ignoring all calls, all noise. His wife and children were no exceptions. When Sara managed to unlock the master bedroom door, she found him lying in bed, curled within himself, Damon’s shirt wrapped around his hands and face. It was his first peaceful sleep in six months.


End file.
